


Lips and Locked Doors

by Djtmusings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Biting, Breathplay, Day 31 - anything goes, Dom Sam, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, First Time, Frottage, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Mark of Cain, Marking, Men of Letters Bunker, Mental Torture, My First Smut, Past Rape/Non-con, Porn with some plot, Wincest - Freeform, Winchester Communication, canon-typical alcohol usage/abuse, dissociative Sam, sleep-depreivation, winchester-typical low self-esteem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-01-27 17:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djtmusings/pseuds/Djtmusings
Summary: The Mark prompts Dean to act on long-repressed desires regarding his brother - with both expected and unexpected results (smut happens). Sam refuses to talk about it. Dean kinda wants to. Angst ensues. Eventually, Dean backs Sam into a corner (figuratively) and another element is added to their relationship (more smut happens). Porn with a smattering of plot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: the Bunker, vaguely in Season 9, after Gadreel leaves Sam, when Dean is beginning to struggle with the Mark of Cain.
> 
> Warning for dubcon situation: Dean/Sam then Sam/Dean - really no one talks about anything before OR after in this fic.
> 
> Chapter one is arguably Mature vs Explicit. YMMV.

“Hey! You look like shit. Should’ve come with me.”

Dean winced and tossed his brother a scowl. He'd been struggling to keep down his second cup of coffee when Sam had come crashing in all panting and sweaty gross from his run. He was in no mood for cheerful.

“No fuckin’ way.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “How bad’ it get last night?”

“Ran out of beer, so I had to hit the good stuff. Made it to bed, ‘tho.”  He groaned. “Thinking of hitting the scotch again.”

“Bad idea.”

Dean tossed him another scowl.

“That’s three nights in a row, now. How much sleep did you get?” Sam’s tone was only gently nagging.

Dean just grunted. “Screw you.”

“Yeah, no thanks, I’ve got standards. You want some more coffee?”

Dean managed something between a grunt and a groan and shoved the empty cup towards his lunatic health nut of a brother. He looked up when he felt the cup nudge against his knuckles. Sam’s face was a familiar mix of concern and irritation with the ghost of one of his fucking dimples hovering around the edges. It was a good face, handsome, even, Dean thought, as he let his let his eyes linger. He felt the familiar jolt of want in his gut as his gaze caught on Sam’s lips. So damn pretty those lips. He’d thought so for years. His hindbrain spent a few blissful moments on what it would be like to finally feel those lips against his own, to pull the lower one into his mouth and suck it plump and tender.

“Um, Dean?”

“Yeah, what?” Guilt blossomed in his gut and he flicked his eyes away, staring off over Sam’s right shoulder.

“You OK?” He could hear the teasing concern in his brother’s voice and deflected automatically.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You stink. Go be grossly healthy somewhere else…goddamn mother hen.”

“Bite me. I’m going to go take a shower. You can get your own damn coffee.” There was no real heat in his words, just the ordinary loving exchange between brothers. _Brothers. Right._

This wasn’t the first time. Mostly, Sam was just Sam – brother, hunting partner, pain in the ass, fuck-what-apocalypse-did-you-start-now guy he lived with. Who he loved, of course, clearly more than life itself. It was just, sometimes, his body wanted more. Usually when his defenses were down, like today.

_“Goddamit!’_

It had been years since it had hit him this hard. Here lately their lives had been such a near constant shit storm, he’d been able to completely ignore it the few occasions it appeared. Like when Sam had shown up at Lisa’s or Dean had come back from purgatory. He had an idea why it was surfacing now and he didn’t like it. Dean rubbed at the ever present ache of the mark on his arm and ran his hands down his face. Staring down into his empty cup, he debated finding the scotch. Went for more coffee instead. Decided to go back to bed.

Coming around the corner on the way to his room, he plowed right into a shirtless Sam, sending coffee flying and knocking Sam flat on his ass. Dean was on his knees in an instant, wiping the scalding liquid from Sam’s face and neck with his shirt.

“Shit! Sam, you ok?”

“Goddamn it, Dean, what the hell?!” Sam bitched, swiping at his face and chest.

“I got it, I got it. Crap man, your face is all red. Lemme see.”

His hands cradling Sam’s face, Dean examined the scald marks. And found himself caught again by Sam’s lips. So close to his touch. Full and red and glistening. He shifted his thumb to slide slowly over the bottom lip. It was just as soft and smooth as it looked. So good, so close, it took almost no effort, no thought at all to close the distance and taste that lip with a gentle swipe of his tongue.

Sam’s body stilled, stiffened, and then Dean was falling over backwards, roughly shoved away.

“Dude! What the fuck?!”

Dean simply stared at Sam in a stupor, the feeling of those lips on his own having wiped his brain clear of thought. He had no words for Sam. No excuse but that jolt of _want_ now fiercely tugging at his gut.

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam hurriedly climbed to his feet, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. His eyes were wide, full of shock and anger.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” He backed away several steps as Dean shook his head slowly and hesitantly reached for Sam in silent plea.

“No, just…stay the hell away from me.” Sam turned back the way he came as Dean scrambled to his feet to follow. He turned the corner just in time to see Sam’s door slam and hear the click of the lock. He stopped and stared at the door. Lifted his hand to brush against lips that still held the taste of his brother.

“Fuck. Shit. GodDAMN it.”

He was going to need the rest of the scotch.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Sam didn’t come out of his room until mid-afternoon. Dean saw him enter the kitchen and followed, hesitating in the doorway. He watched his brother gathering food for more than one meal with a sinking stomach. Things between them had been better lately. Now Sam hated him again. He didn’t know how to fix this.

“Sam, I’m...” As he spoke, Sam froze with his back to Dean.

“Don’t.” Sam’s voice was clipped and deadly serious. “Don’t talk to me. Just…shut the hell up. Go away.”

Dean took a step backwards and stood there clenching and unclenching his fists. Sam remained frozen in place, silent. Dean wished that Sam would yell at him - lash out – anything but shut him out. Unable to see his way clear, Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and retreated.

“I’m…I’m gonna go wash the car. I’ll be in the garage. If you, uh, need…anything.”

Sam hadn’t needed anything. ~~~~

Later, Dean ate chips and salsa, alone, for dinner. No beer, because they were out. They were out of whiskey and scotch too. He ransacked their stores and finally found the butt end of a bottle of vodka abandoned in the back of the freezer. It wasn’t enough.

Which was probably why, later, much later, he stood in front of Sam’s bedroom door in silent debate. He wasn’t sure what to say or even how to start. Or even if he should be attempting to talk at all. For a bit he dwelt on the cosmic irony of their reversal of roles. Eventually, he gave up and returned to his room. He woke at some pre-dawn hour from a dream of lips and hot breath and tongues tangling that left him hard and shaking and shattered. As his brain had clearly said screw it to sleeping, he took a tepid shower and went on a town run for supplies. The beer needed restocking after all.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Sam came into the kitchen while he was putting things away. Just sauntered in like nothing was different and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Found us a case. Haunting up in Idaho. Looks like a typical salt and burn.” Sam’s voice sounded perfectly normal, if a bit humorless.

“Huh, yeah, OK. Car’s gassed up and ready, can leave whenever.”

“Great, 30 minutes to pack?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Sam paused on his way out of the kitchen and glanced back. At the tiniest hint of a question on Dean’s face and Sam’s lips pinched tight, his face shuttered. With a single small shake of his head, Sam was out the door and down the hall.

Right, then, Dean thought. Repression it is. No talking, pretend nothing happened and everything is normal. He could do that. He’d been doing it for years. Hell, it was practically his motto.

The drive to and from Idaho took three times longer than the case and they still got their asses handed to them. Sam had a black eye and Dean was nursing a dislocated shoulder (popped back in on a door frame because he refused to ask Sam to touch him). Seven days on the road and he was ready for his own bed and some privacy once again. Not talking about this this thing was harder with Sam’s constant presence.  At each motel, they’d gotten a double room, part of pretending everything was normal. Sam kept them focused on the case, responded to Dean’s snark and teasing with all the right phrases but…it wasn’t normal. Dean tried, he really did, but even with Sam on a bed only a few feet away,  there was still the feeling of being locked out. It was worse in the car.

“Friggin’ poltergeists, man, who knew they could swing a bat so well?”

“Yeah. Good thing he never made the majors, huh? You doing OK?” The ease of Sam’s words was not reflected in the tension of his shoulders or the tightness around his eyes. Dean was reminded that they lied for a living and were damn good at it too.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s all good.” It was one of his best lies, one of the first he’d learned. Some of the time, Dean even believed it himself. Sometimes.

Back to the bunker, Sam went straight to his room after hitting the showers. Dean heard the lock click from the kitchen because he was listening for it.

He took the whiskey bottle back to his room, not bothering with a glass.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Later that night, Dean went to bed early after a quiet twist confirmed that Sam’s door was still locked, nothing but silence from the other side. Dean’d had enough whiskey to be loose and drowsy. He told himself that this time it was medicinal – his shoulder was still giving him grief and he needed a bit of help in order to rest. In truth, the mark on his arm ached and he just wasn’t up to banging his head on this thing between him and Sam. Again.

He was awakened from sleep by a dip in the mattress as a body, long and lean, laid down alongside him in the bed. Adrenaline snapped his hand to the gun under his pillow even as his body recognized his brother’s shape and smell. He relaxed, heart rate calming, as his groggy mind grasped at reasons for Sam’s presence. 

“Sam?”

“Mmmhm.” Sam moved to spoon Dean as he slid his arm under the pillow and pushed his brother’s hand off the gun.

“Bad dream?” It still happened sometimes, one of them seeking midnight comfort after gruesome nightmares left unspoken. Finding the reassurance of reality in the warmth and breath of the other. That the monster was not real, _this_ time. That this was _not_ hell.

“Can’t sleep.” Sam’s arm wrapped around Dean’s waist, large hand splayed low over his belly. He tucked his forehead into the curve of Dean’s shoulder, just like when they were kids. Dean’s brain stumbled over Sam’s words. Neither was a stranger to insomnia. Hell, at this point it was like the obnoxious houseguest who wouldn’t leave. By unspoken agreement, they dealt with it on their own, survival dictating that at least one of them be sharp in the morning.

“Sam, what..”

“Don’t.” The word was quiet, yet short and sharp.

Dean froze, his eyebrows leaping up in surprise as the words cleared the fog from his brain. Sam was here. In his bed. Touching him. Almost two weeks of locked doors and Sam’s pinched silent face. Sam couldn’t sleep and his solution was to come _here_? Christ on a pony _,_ they were going to talk _ now._

“Sam.” His voice a command. A demand for an explanation.

“Shut UP.” Sam shifted as he spat out the command. His hand underneath curved up sharply to cover Dean’s mouth as he brought his hips sharply up against Dean’s backside. The hard length of an erection pressed firmly along the crack of his ass and Dean gasped at the warmth he could feel through layers of thin cloth. His eyebrows attempted to mate with his hairline as his hands automatically reached up to free his mouth from the stifling pressure of Sam’s hand.

“Don’t _move_.” Sam practically growled the words as the hand on Dean’s abdomen shifted abruptly to his groin and gripped firmly.

Dean’s body stilled completely. His heart pounded and he worked to drag air through obstructing fingers. Sam’s hand easily covered him from chin to nose, posing a threat that Dean…absolutely did not find hot. No sir, _not at all._

“Just…” Sam left the thought incomplete as he began to rut his hard length up against Dean from behind. At the same time, he began to grope and fondle Dean through his shorts. Dean was hard in seconds, struggling to grasp that this was truly happening, yet unwilling to do anything to stop it. He clutched at the sheets beside him as he tried to relax into the rhythm Sam was creating. Curls of pleasure began to build in his gut and he could feel the fabric around his cock grow damp.

Sam’s silence was eerie, just his breath gradually increasing as his movements picked up speed. Then Dean felt a shift at his shoulder and the heat and wet of Sam’s tongue on his skin. He closed his eyes, picturing Sam’s lips as they kissed and sucked at the base of his neck. His mouth fell open and, without thinking, he slipped his tongue along the flesh pressed against his mouth.

Sam’s rhythm stuttered and then he loosened his grip, allowing Dean’s tongue better access to his hand. Eagerly, he slid his tongue between two of Sam’s fingers, dragging it against the sensitive web of skin at the base again and again. He was rewarded by a surge from behind and the nip of teeth at his shoulder. He licked and sucked his way along the only part of Sam he was allowed to access, as heat and want and pressure built in his groin. The friction of fabric against sensitive skin was becoming almost painful, almost too much. He could only imagine what it was like for Sam. But there was no way he was going to shift or say anything. No way he was going to jeopardize this…whatever this was.

Sam’s fingers curved and flexed against Dean’s tongue, two finally slipping into to his mouth. He licked and bit at the fingertips, moving then to suck them in deeper, working to match the rhythm of Sam’s pull and thrust down below. In response Sam began sucking harder at his shoulder, marking him with those lips, and the thought sent pleasure zinging straight to Dean’s balls. Embarrassingly quickly, he felt himself approaching the top of his climb. Sucking in air with a hiss, he exhaled in a long low whine around a mouthful of Sam. His brother responded by almost frantically grinding himself into Dean, his pulls at Dean’s dick harder and more irregular. The sucking at his shoulder stopped and instead he felt teeth digging into the now tender flesh. Dean gave up on Sam’s fingers, abandoning all efforts at control. His mouth slack, he made more grunting whines with each push/pull from before and behind. Abruptly, Sam gave two hard shoves and then held his body pressed hard against Dean’s as he exhaled with a soft grunt. Dean’s head swam with scents of Sam – musk and sweat and the faint smell of soap. This, and the feel of everything, teeth, lips, hand…Sam’s muscles shaking, stomach and thighs quivering against his backside…overwhelmed his senses. Dean fell spiraling over the edge, filling his shorts with jets of spunk like a pubescent teen. Thankfully, wordlessly, Sam responded by slowing his hand and then stilled, letting his grasp lie warm and sheltering over the soft wet mess underneath. His other hand shifted down from Dean’s mouth to splay across his heaving chest as they both gasped for breath, hearts pounding.

Dean’s mind was reeling. _This just happened. Holy shit, what just happened?_

“Sam..” Dean began, but was cut off as his brother abruptly shifted away, drawing himself up and off the bed with surprising efficiency. Dean flipped over to see Sammy turning towards the door.

“Sammy… _wait_.” But Sam had crossed the room in a few quick strides and was down the hall before Dean’s feet hit the floor.  “SAAAAM!” Dean had made it to standing, but dropped back down to the bed as he heard the hated slam and click of Sam’s door.

“What the fuck, Sam. This is _not_ ok!”

He sat there on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands swearing a blue streak under his breath while his brain scrabbled to make any sense of what had just happened. After the incident in the hall, he had a pretty clear understanding of why Sam would keep away, but not…no explanation for…this. Dean reflected on what was probably some of the best and at the same time _worst_ sex he’d ever had. It had been so hot and so fast…he’d be embarrassed at how quickly he’d come, except that Sam had gone first. Clearly, their _bodies_ had both wanted this, but had Sam? For that matter, had he?

Dean’s brain almost automatically shifted away from that thought. He wasn’t _supposed_ to want his brother. His job was to protect Sam, even from _himself._ And the way Sam had done this - silent, in the dark, not even _looking_ at him, Dean was pretty sure Sam was trying to protect himself from something. Dean rubbed at the throb in his arm. Had Sam done this _for_ him? Because he thought Dean wanted this? _Needed_ it? Dean groaned aloud at the thought, grinding his teeth and hating himself. Hating the Mark and Crowley and Abbadon…and his life in general when it came right down to it.

A chill brought his attention to the mess in his briefs. With a mental _fuck it_ , Dean welcomed the distraction of something he could easily solve. Quickly, he stripped off his t-shirt and shorts, tossing them at the dirty clothes bin in the corner, and pulled on his robe. In the bathroom, he decided to settle for a quick whore’s bath in the sink while working to shove the entire mess into the darkest corners of his head.

A glance in the mirror brought him up short, the barest smudge of dark on his shoulder peeking out from under the edge of his robe. Pulling it back, he stood there staring at this new mark, Sam’s teeth clearly visible around the edges of a bruise almost black in the center. His fingers probed it gently, the tenderness barely a blip on the radar of his screwed up lifestyle, yet somehow deeply disturbing.

Holy crap, his brother had _marked_ him. Heat bloomed deep in his bowels and his cock gave an interested twitch at the thought. Dean clutched hard at the sides of the sink as his brain skittered away from what that might mean. What _this_ could mean…for both of them.

“ _Dammit_ , Sam.”

He didn’t know what to do and he _hated_ that feeling. He didn’t have enough information to make a decision. Their relationship was still touch and go since Gadreel and now the Mark…he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t push. He’d just have to wait and see how Sam reacted in the morning when he came out of his room. _If_ he came out of his room. Just thinking about this mess made him want to punch something.

“Fuck, we need a case.”

Sighing, he stripped off the robe and headed for the shower. Clearly, he wasn’t getting back to sleep any time soon. Might was well get some coffee and hit the books. The sooner he found Abbadon, or Gadreel or any kind of case at all, the sooner their lives could get back to something resembling normal. Well, normal for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the next chapter roughed out, an outline for the 3rd, and what I think is the 4th and last part of this story from Dean POV. If I get enough interest, it is possible that this might be come a 2 part series, with Sam's POV as the 2nd part (maybe).
> 
> [Later note: Nope, Sam did not want to wait. His POV happens DURING this story. So length is now up in the air.]


	2. Interlude - Behind the door #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is broken - fragmented - and he knows it. He wants what he can't have. And then the unthinkable happens - he takes it anyway.
> 
> Snippets of what happens behind Sam's locked doors. Picks up immediately after Dean's kiss in chapter 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was not the chapter two I had planned to write. In fact, Sam wasn't supposed to have a POV in this story at all. But he *insisted.* so here you go.
> 
> Warning: Mentions of past rape and torture (Hell). Descriptions of incest, non-consensual sex and canon-typical threats/negative self-esteem.
> 
> Note: Sam's thoughts are his own, neither right or wrong in this situation. I've attempted to portray one possible way he might mentally process one possible wincest scenario. I strongly suggest you don't try this at home - or anywhere else for that matter.

*************************************************

CLICK.

He leans on the door and lifts his shaking hands, staring at their violent movements. He can’t catch his breath. Lightheaded, he slips slowly to the floor, his legs cold and weak - almost fluid, like ice water.

_**ohgodohgodohgodohgodPLEAAAASE** _

_I almost let it out._ He must have done something to provoke it. What had Sam done? What does Dean know? How could he have known? Sam had been so very careful. For YEARS he’d been so careful. _This can’t be my fault._ It can’t be. Oh god, what if Gadreel said something? His lip curled as fear suddenly turned to anger. _Or Crowley. Goddammit Dean why didn’t you kill him?_

_Why didn’t you let me die?_

His face shifts to hard lines, teeth pressed tight, as he gets up from the floor. His movements stiff, almost wooden, Sam moves to the desk and opens his laptop. His hands operate without conscious thought as he struggles to regain control. _Screw Dean,_ _always taking what he wants, never considering the pain he will cause._ He can’t be near Dean right now. He can’t. Not like this. The want is too strong. He’ll kill him…or worse.

_**DEEEEEEAAAAAAANNNNN!** _

He’d always wanted Dean. He can't remember a time when he wasn’t madly in love with him. Oh, sure, he’s hated him too. Hell, Sam’s wanted to kill him any number of times. That’s part of being brothers. Not the wanting part, no not that. That was the part of Sam that was sick, a freak, twisted beyond all reason. It was one of Lucifer’s favorite taunts as he rammed himself into Sam over and over and over again, year after year. _“This is what you want, isn’t it, Sam? Want your own brother splitting you open just like this? C’mon admit it. TELL ME.”_ Or he’d sink Sam deep into a fantasy of finally having Dean – in every way imaginable – until it became endless blood and screams. When Cas took on his madness, it blunted these memories, but only deepened Sam’s shame. Because now Cas _knew._ He knew the perverse desire that had always lain just beneath the surface. The desire that never goes away.

_**ohgodohgodohgodohgodWANTDEAN** _

Methodically, body almost rigid, Sam steps through his morning routines – reviewing his feeds, sifting through information. But he’s barely paying attention and he knows it. His protections, the walls he built to contain his fucked up desires, are in shambles. He grinds his teeth. _It’s all Dean’s fault. His lips…_ He can’t think about that. He can’t. He’s barely holding it together as it is. _Goddammit, closing the gates of Hell was supposed to be a redemption_ – his chance to let it all go. He’d be purified, cleansed, and forgiven. Sam’s lips twist into a snarl. _Now Gadreel knows too._ He knows and he’s out there, somewhere. _I have to find him before he_ …Kevin’s ruined face suddenly fills Sam’s mind, bile rising in his throat. _No, not me, wasn’t me…_

Sam shifts in his seat, squaring his shoulders. Gadreel must be found. He has to get it together – reconstruct his walls, rebuild his protections. _No one can know._ He has to be normal every day – _can’t let Dean see…can’t ever let him see._

_Deeeeeannnn_

*****************

At some point his stomach growls, interrupting his fruitless and half-hearted research. He considers the risks of encountering Dean in a search for food. Decides he is not hungry. Goes anyway.

*****************

 

He slams the door and leans on it. Works to calm his pounding heart. He’d held it together. He’d done it. _Barely_. If Dean hadn’t left – if he’d kept talking… _oh god, if he’d come closer_...but he hadn’t. Glory be, for once his brother hadn’t been a dick. He could do this. He could put it back together, shut it away. Shift it all back to normal. He had to. For Dean.

Sam has always been sure that Dean would hate him if he knew. It’s part of why Sam never looks at guys and why he fought with Dad - even why he left for school. His every waking moment is about control. He always has to be in control – of his words, his actions, his reactions. Stanford was a chance to relax, to get away from the chaos of hunting, to get over wanting his brother. To stop being a freak. _Too late for that now. Far, far too late._ For the thousandth time today he replays the scene in his head: Dean bending close, the rough slide of calloused hands across his skin, the feel of Dean’s lips pressing down. The shock of it, the panic. What did he do? How did he give it away? _He started it, I just…let it happen. And then I…I pushed him away. I ran._ _Why did he do it? Is it the Mark? It has to be the Mar_ k – because Dean can’t possibly _want_ Sam. Never in a million years. And if it is the Mark, what does it mean? Maybe… _maybe Dean doesn’t know_.

_Maybe I can make this all go away._

_deandeandeandeandeandean_

For hours, Sam seesaws between online searches and internal struggle. He puts himself back together, brick by brick. He has to get back to normal. _They_ have to get back to normal. He searches for a case. Dean needs him to do this. And he would do anything for Dean.

 

*************************************

At some point, late in the night, Dean stands outside his door. Sam can see the shadows in the light underneath, hear his feet shift in the grit on the floor. Eventually, Dean goes away.

Sam checks the lock on the door, heart pounding.

_**DEAN!** _

He refuses to touch himself.

 

**************************************

It took him half the night to find a case – some ghost up in the northwest. It took the other half to prepare himself to speak to Dean. To figure out how to be normal again. _Fuck Gadreel, fuck Abbadon, and the Mark, and Crowley. We need to go back to normal. I need normal._ Normal is a case. _I can do this._ Run a case, kill the monster, save the people.

The key is Dean. His reaction. _If he asks questions, I can’t…I can’t answer them._ _Maybe, maybe if we don’t talk about it, if we pretend it never happened, we can move on._ They were good at that - not talking. Hopefully, they could _not talk_ about this too…like, forever.

**************************************

 

Sam eases shut the motel bathroom door and silently turns the lock. He carefully rests his head against the door as a small whimper escapes. He can’t do this. He _can’t._

_deandeandeandeandeandean_ **_WANT_ **

It’s easier when he sleeps in the car – or at least pretends to. But here in the motel, with Dean half naked just an arm’s length away…it’s torture.

_I can FEEL him in the bed just right there, this is too hard, I can’t do this, I have to do this, God he is so close, I can smell him, feel the heat of him, I need, I need, I need to get away. Keep him safe. Dean isn’t safe, he has the Mark, Abbadon, Gadreel, we don’t have a plan. I have to keep him safe, I can’t leave, Dean needs me._

_Dean._

He barely held it together when Dean got hurt. His own injuries didn’t matter, but Dean wouldn’t let him help - wouldn’t even let him close. That wasn’t normal. _Dean knows. He knows something is wrong._ Everything isn’t ok. They were lying to themselves. And not very well.

_I can’t sleep, he’s too close, he’s right there, Dean got hurt because I can’t sleep, because I’m not sharp. I can’t think, his lips, I need, I need, I need to keep away, keep it together, oh god, help me. Help. Me._

He spends most of the night in the bathroom, safe, but awake, his mind spinning in never ending circles.

_Want. Dean._

He still refuses to touch himself.

 

***************************

Back in the bunker, in his room, behind the safety of the lock, Sam strips, burying the clothes deep in the laundry bag. After hours – days – in the car, everything smells like _him_. Like leather and whiskey and sweet sweat and _Dean_. He’d managed to pass out for a few hours in the car each day on the way back. It helped with the not talking. Some, a little, not much.

He sank face down on the bed, arms wrapped around his pillow. God, all he wanted was sleep. Just…sleep.

But his brain would not. Turn. Off.

_Better, apart better, can do this, can do it in small bits, maybe. Case is too hard, but we have to work cases, gotta find Abbadon, Gadreel, god Gadreel knows, have to find him have to destroy him, can’t THINK, so strong, the need, the want, I want, I want…_

_**DeanDeanDean** _

He lays there for hours. He does not sleep.

_deeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnn_

*********************************

 

Later, much later, he hears Dean at the door again. Hears him return to his room, the faint creak of his bed. He tries to put it out of his mind. Recites exorcisms in Latin. Backwards. It doesn’t help.

_What is he doing? Oh god, Dean is in bed, it's late, he’s probably drunk. Again. Half naked, in bed, bed Dean. He kissed me, his lips, I want his lips, no, don’t think about it, just sleep, need to sleep, bed, don’t think about Dean in bed, don’t think about Dean, the Mark, about Dean and the Mark, the Mark is changing him, the Mark is making him want this, I could have this. NO, don’t think that. Don’t think, don’t…_

_Dean kissed you._

_Go away._

_Dean kissed YOU._

_Go. Away._

_He wants this._

_No._

_You want this._

_I’m not listening to you._

_You want Dean._

_Oh, god._

_**Dean.** _

_No, please._

_**Want. Dean.** _

_Please._

_**Want.** _

******************************************************

 

_Ohgodohmygodohmygodohmygod._

_mmmmmmmmmmmm_

_How could I want that, how could I enjoy that, oh god what have I done, I touched Dean, I touched him…_

_Yes, good._

_Nonononono, that’s bad, that’s not right, what did I do, what did we do…oh god he’s going to hate me, he’s going to kill me, oh god the Mark, he’s gonna blow, I can’t, I can’t, keep away, keep him away, I can’t talk to him, he can’t see me, I’m dangerous, safe, need to be safe…_

Sam checks the lock on the door and then slides to the floor in a boneless heap. Chest heaving, heart pounding he slowly curls into a fetal position and buries his face in his hands.

_Oh god I can smell him, his come, taste it, taste him on my hands, feel him on my skin, so good, that was so good, not right, not right. Oh, god, what did I do, why did I do that, why, why, why did he let me?_

_He LET you._

The words in Sam’s head slam to a halt. _He let me._ Sam replays their actions in his head, the analytical portion of his brain stirring to life. _He didn’t just let me, he participated. He, he, oh god he licked and he sucked, and it felt so good and he came. He came. For me._

_He liked it._

_No, no, no. He didn’t, he can’t, he can’t have wanted that, I made him do it, I forced him, oh god, I made him do it, I, I, I.. I_ **_raped_ ** _him._

**NO.**

_Yes, I did, I forced him. Covered his mouth – threatened to, threatened him..._

_You didn’t make him fuck your hand._  
_Lick you, grind into you,_  
_suck you over the top._

_Oh._ **_God._ **

Sense memory slams into Sam like a truck, overwhelming any shreds of control. He chokes out a sob, and tears start streaming down his cheeks. He curls tighter, body jerking as the jumble of guilt and pain and joy forces itself out in gasps. _I just wanted to hold him. Just hold him. Feel him solid against me._ Like back when they were kids and Dean would comfort him – tell him everything was ok. But then, standing there in the doorway, he had been just so _perfect_. So beautiful. So Dean. Sam had slipped into Dean’s bed helplessly, drawn to his brother’s reassuring form like air. He’d just wanted it to stop – the hurting, the need, the want. Maybe it would be enough, just holding him. Maybe.

But then Dean woke. He spoke – asked questions, demanding, _ordering_  Sam. And suddenly, he was just so _angry_ with Dean. _Always getting what HE wants. Have to do it HIS way. What about what I want._ And Sam had wanted Dean. Wanted him so much.

_Dean._

_And, oh god, Dean had felt so good, so very good, the smell of him, the warmth against skin._ Touching him had been like soothing an ache and lighting a fire at the same time. _Christ, his breath through my fingers, the feel of his cock in my hand… I wanted it. I had to taste him, skin so smooth, so good, so soft, wanted more, wanted his lips. Then, oh god, his tongue, his mouth, went straight to my dick, I thought he was going to kill me._ He’d tried to return the favor, but all he could think was _good_ and _more, yes_ and _mine_ and _DEAN_. As soon as it was over, as soon as Dean spoke, he knew he had fucked up. Again. He’d taken what wasn’t his and couldn’t put it back. He’d run because there was no going back. No forgiveness for this.

_Not true._  
_Dean loves you._  
_Loves us._  
_Always._  
_No matter what._

Eventually, the sobbing stops, replaced by a familiar numbness. _What’s done is done, nothing to left to do but sweep up the pieces._ Resigned, Sam picks himself up off of the ground and stumbles to the sink. He strips, dropping his soiled clothing to the floor, and cleans himself off. His movements are stiff but methodical. Drying himself briskly with a hand towel, he pulls underwear from a drawer and quickly slips them on. After several moments spend motionless, staring at his clothes drawers, he returns to the pile on the floor and slips on his shirt. It reeks of his own sweat and spunk and _Dean._

He slips into bed, hugs the pillow, and burrows his nose into his sleeve. After several minutes, his muscles relax, his breathing deepens, and finally, he sleeps.

He does not dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given that this chapter did not go as planned, I am now unsure how long this story will be. I know where/how it will end, but am no longer exactly sure how we will get there.  
> I do know a) that next chapter will be from Dean's POV, and b) that the story is going to get more intense (and violent) before it ends. You are warned - watch for changing tags.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by [Lips That Unlock Doors](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8205379) by [AlulaSpeaks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AlulaSpeaks/pseuds/AlulaSpeaks) which I thought was way hot, but somehow lacking in angst. Nothing is ever that easy for Winchesters - they never talk about anything directly without lots of angst first. Which got me thinking about how a first time in the bunker might *actually* happen. And so you got this.
> 
> Please comment with your reactions/thoughts/suggestions re: my 1st attempt at smut. I also encourage subscriptions.


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